


Two Guardians Walk into a Bar

by Glacial_guillotine



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Ahh Sorry Peter, And something gets slipped in his drink, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Dissociation, Drinking, Emetophobia, F/M, Gen, Hurt Peter Quill, Peter gets really drunk, fluff at the end, general violence, its awful for Gamora
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 18:58:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15467880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glacial_guillotine/pseuds/Glacial_guillotine
Summary: ""I stormed off. When you were hurting." She states."It's fine, I mean.." He smiles, "When have the people I love ever not left me?" He laughs, openly, but her eyes shine.His smile falls and he curses, "Oh, shit, Gamora, it was just a joke. I'm- I didn't mean it."Showing emotion in front of Peter was becoming more and more frequent, and she can't tell if its the best thing that's happened to her or the worst. "------Peter has something slipped into his drink, and it s u c k s... for both of them.





	Two Guardians Walk into a Bar

**Author's Note:**

> Warning:  
> This story contains mentions of attempted sexual assault, and drugs and drinking are a major component, so please use discretion. 
> 
> -Emetophobia warning as well-
> 
> Please Enjoy!

Something is undeniably, completely and utterly wrong with the sight in front of Gamora. It sends chills up her back and plants a rock in her stomach.

Peter leans against an older guy, drink in hand and guard down. They're laughing, their entire four-person group is, but something pulls her attention to him in a way that makes her itch. She's seen him drunk, many, many times, and knows that he handles his alcohol, albeit not quite as well as she.

This Peter is stumbling, _giggly_ , and so out of it, she doesn't believe he's truly even conscious. It takes her all but a second to see the drunken possessiveness in the groups gaze, the knowing looks spread between them, dripping in anticipation...for what? She would rather not find out.

She makes her way through the crowded room and deposits her drink onto a random barstool as she walks. A dopey smile lights up his face as she comes into sight.

"Gamora!" He slurs, standing straight as he raises his glass. A man's hand rests against his back, righting his balance. It lingers just a second too long for Gamora's liking.

She blinks and folds her arms. "We're leaving. Come on."

There's a dangerous electricity slicing through the air and it makes the hair on her neck stand on end. She feels watched, like every eye in the bar is staring straight at them.

It's almost nightmarish how the small groups' movement stops, all eyes focused on her face. Heat spreads across her scalp and it takes all she has to not grab Peter and plow through the crowd.

She hears Peter's heavy breathing from beside her and suddenly, he's leaning, and the man with salt and pepper hair is supporting all his weight. He laughs, dropping his glass with a shatter that echoes around inside her head.

"Peter, let's go." She emphasises, trying to keep the urgency out of her voice.

"Ugggg-" Peter whines, mouth set into a loose frown.

A weasley, thin looking man settles further into a leather chair and scoffs. "He's a grown man, sweetheart."

She hopes she's conveying the right amount of disdain through her gaze. "Now, Quill."

"Ya knoow wjat?" He slurs, confidence leaking into his stance. "M' stayin!"

The men cheer, and more drinks are passed around.

All the men make eye contact and one speaks, tearing his gaze away from his friends to land on Gamora. "An' of course, we'll make sure this one gets to his docking bay safely." There's a dry chuckle, and he heaves one of Peter's arms around his shoulders.

Suddenly, Gamora wasn't sure if she had judged right. It was quite possible she had let her emotions get the best of her, that seemed to be something that was becoming more and more common the longer she was around Quill, and maybe these men were truly just looking for a bro night.

Perhaps he needed some time spent with real men, doing real men things such as drinking and being rude to girlfriends who are just looking out for said 'real men's livers.

"See?" Peter stage-whispered. "I'll be f'ine!"

Maybe he wasn't as drunk as she thought he was.

Ugh, this was really tearing her apart. She really was starting to hate caring about anybody.

"I'll see you back in twenty, you have to be rested up to fly. No skipping because of a hangover." Gamora swept over the men's faces one last time, memorizing their features as best she could before calmly making her way back to the ship.

Oh, she hoped this decision wouldn't backfire.  
———

It was getting late. Too late for Gamora to be comfortable, yet there's still a few minutes to go before she marches back over there and drags him home by his hair.

The sounds of retching come from Peter's room and she throws off a blanket she had covered up with. She finds him hunched over a trashcan, form lurching and trembling. She sighs and kneels next to him, running a hand in circles over his back. This was the last time she would comfort him after he got drunk, she promised herself, although she knew she couldn't ever stick to it.

"Oh, Peter.." She trailed off, lifting the bucket away from his mouth as he seemed to be done with it.

"S' dizzy..." Peter sloppily wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and she took in the way his eyes seemed to float around the room, pupils blown huge.

Gamora shook her head and had to refrain from rolling her eyes.

"That many drinks will do that to you."

"Did'n ave that many," his gaze suddenly froze, his face falling from the grimace that had previously warped his features to a blank look. It seemed like he was falling asleep with his eyes open, which Gamora didn't have a particularly great feeling about.

He's unable to stop his head from falling, continuously jerking himself back to consciousness. He just can't keep himself awake, so, so tired... tired and lost and where is he?

Whose hands are on his shoulders? Why are they shaking him, digging their nails into his skin...

 

He flinches, terror seeping into his already frazzled mind. Thoughts stick to his conscience and he presses his back against his desk, too tired to slap away the hands that try to restrain him.

The memory of invading hands of the men from earlier burns in his mind and on his skin and is that who's sitting in front of him?

"Don't t-ouch me!!" He yells, the words almost tearing themselves through his throat like water bursting through a hole in the ground.

"Peter!" He hears his name, cringes, and he distantly hears another shout from somewhere. Its vaguely familiar and he isn't one-hundred percent sure but he doesn't think it's a mans voice, and its covered in a barely concealed horror.

His hands clamp around his ears and he doesn't want to be drunk anymore because bad. Things. Happen. To. People. Who. Aren't. In. _Control_ and he should KNOW this!

 

His stomach convulses and he can't keep it down anymore, but there's something plastic being pressed against his face and he feels like he's choking, but there is bile rising in his throat and he doesn't want it in his lap so he stays.

It sends a painful jolt through his abdomen and he can't help it, hands shaking and tears dropping into the trash can.

"C-an't breathe.. i-it hurtts-" he gasps, weak fingers flying up to claw at his lungs.

 

Heat flushes up his neck and without warning, his mind disconnects from his body and he's floating. Peter hears a voice, but it takes eons longer than it should to reach his brain and he reacts way too late and he's.. spiraling in an empty black hole.

Everything he touches, the rough metal of the floor, the tight fabric covering his skin, feels foreign... he can't feel his nails as they dig into his palms and that _scares_ him.

Pain is something he can rely on and now he's panicking, because _what if he never comes back from this_ , what if he's stuck in this hellscape of everything being too long and too far away... this soft world is anything but real, which he has always felt. He isn't so sure he is anymore.

A hand clasps around his arm and icy knives shoot up his arms, mind slamming back into his failing body. He feels every ache of his oxygen-starved lungs and poison filled stomach but is so, so tired.

Peter's limbs are as heavy as black matter and not moving when they're supposed to, his face fuzzy and he still can't draw a _fucking_ breath. Shit! Shit! Shit!! He can barely move and it's terrifying.

 

God, there are hands all over him and he can't push them away, can't draw the strength. There's a weight pressing on him heavier than a planet and he _can't_ go through this again, not after all the work he's put into making himself whole again.

Peter's breath continues to come out in pained, quick gasps that are getting shorter and shorter, and there are black spots blurring his vision. He chokes, and there is a ringing he can't get rid of-

Peter's body tenses, chest rising and falling with great strain, eyes staring and shining with yet to be shed tears. Gamora's heart is pounding against her ribs faster than she thinks normal.

She's pulled at his shirt, shook his shoulders, pawed at his hands to uncurl and stop the rivulets of blood from running down his wrists but it did nothing... Peter seemed to be trapped in a world where everything was ten thousand pounds and he was a feather.

He wheezes once again, and she can't get him to focus on her and it's breaking her heart. His hands weakly push hers away, and the lack of strength in his muscles and his gaze makes her own breaths falter.

"Pe-" she chokes down her tears. "Peter. Listen. Can you squeeze my hand for me?"

He stills under her hands, his breaths still terrifyingly shallow, but slow, which was a thousand times better than before.

 

"Peter?"

His eyes are clouded with something she can't place but _thank god_ it isn't terror, but a tired distrust that still pushes adrenaline through her stomach. At this point, all she can hope for is for sleep to heal him. And it does, mercifully. She feels the slightest twitch against her palm and he closes his eyes, lashes fluttering against sweaty skin.

"You promised me you wouldn't be so reckless anymore," She whispered, "You promised.

She doesn't want to leave him on the cold floor, wearing a sweat-soaked shirt, so she heaves him up onto his bed and switches it for a loose top. Gamora debates climbing into the bed with him, it wouldn't be the first time she had spent an innocent night with her face nestled against his shoulder, but she wondered if it would be crossing a line.

Instead, she pulls over a chair and slides into it, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders. As she drifts off to sleep, concern melted through her facade, she thought, or rather, begged,

 

_Please be okay._

 

_______

The sound of retching was becoming more and more familiar, and she wakes up to the sound yet again.

Deja vu hits her yet again as she sees Peter with a trash can clutched in his lap. Luckily none of it made it to the floor.

His eyes are still vacant, but there's an alertness there that just wasn't present the night before.

"What the hell happened." Peter groans, head falling back onto his propped up pillow.

She shakes her head and reaches out a hand to rest on his, but a tremor runs through him and she sees him pull back.

"You got drunk." She says simply.

"Oh."

There's silence as Peter takes measured breaths.

"You got home, threw up, and freaked out." She steels her mouth and refuses to be anything but calm for Peter.

"Oh."

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe we don't want to see you hurt?"

He doesn't answer, eyes staring at his hands where the bloodied crescents are healing.

"Just how drunk had you planned on getting?" Her calm is wavering, just as her voice seemed to be.

Peter cracks a smile but it does nothing to ease the exhaustion on his face. He holds up a shaky hand.

"I wrote the Milano's docking number on my hand just in case." He laughs dryly, pulling his arm back across his eyes.

"You-" She can't believe how careless he'd been, at the risk of himself and the team. She slams the trashcan down beside her and rises, storming out of the room.

How dare he assume she would just take care of him? She wasn't a babysitter, he was a grown man, he could deal with his own hangover for all she cared.

Something about the situation still wasn't sitting right with her, however. In all of her time with Peter, all of the empty bottles of Aqot wine and cheap vodka, he hadn't lost his cool. He was always rooted in reality, but this Peter.. was unstable. She was going to figure this out.

And work out some of this fucking anger on some dirty, sleazy bar-goers.

She makes her way through the streets to the bar. The lights are as neon as ever, the stench of alcohol wafting across the air, mixing with soot and grime from a nearby power plant.

Gamora finds the men in the same corner as the night before, the only difference this time around is that the bar is even more crowded and hostile, which is saying something. Instead of Peter, there's a young looking Krylorian guy being pushed against a wall. She sees the same look of absence in his eyes, but he seems to be blindly laughing along with the men.

In a second, Gamora is holding a blade to one of their necks. She juts her chin out and motions for the pink-skinned Krylorian to escape, and he stumbles away. She hopes he makes it far, far away from the bar.

"Who are you." She sneers, pressing the blade further into his scraggly neck. He laughs nervously and swallows.

"Hey, hey, take it easy, babe."

Gamora wants to spit. She doesn't.

"That guy you were drinking with last night?" Her voice is dangerous and low. "Tell me what you did now, or I'll make sure you never see the sun again." She draws blood, and the rest of the group's hands go to the knives on their belts.

"All we did was slip some liquid fun into his drink! Zemmy!" Her eyebrows pulled together, and the men must having seen this, snickered.

Another one of the greasy men chortles, "We kicked him out the second he threw it up. No fun, that one."

The man Gamora still had her knife against isn't as humored. "Harmless for the stronger ones, did't know he was Terran, swear!"

She releases him and he stumbles away, rubbing his neck.

Gamora has to restrain herself from cutting down every one of them at that moment, and turn in the owners and bartenders for not realizing what was happening every night under their noses.

While she was distracted, one of the guys had stalked closer and all of a sudden, a fist is coming towards her face. Gamora catches it and strikes faster than a snake, punching him straight in the nose with the greatest force she was capable of. She pins him to the floor and wraps a restraint around his wrists, and just as quickly, there are swarms of men rushing for the doors. She pulls a few electro-nets out of her belt and hits every one of the men in one clean sweep. Cowards.

"You all are being detained on the authority of the Nova Corps." Gamora pulls out a scanner and scans each of their faces, sending a message to the nearest force, which was only a few minutes away. But not before she took the one who was holding onto Peter and slammed him against the wall, knocking his lights out.

_______

It's a week later, and Gamora still can't help but sneak glances at Peter ever once in a while. He seemed fine, the night lost in a haze of neon and vomit, so she didn't press him. She didn't tell him what happened to him that night either, which made her stomach turn in guilt.

He was standing in her doorway a few hours after she returned to the ship, and pressing the heel of his hand against his temple. They had all decided to stay one more night, as Groot and Rocket wanted to check out some shops they hadn't had a chance to make it to, and Peter was dehydrated and feeling too miserable to fly.

Gamora felt terrible for yelling at him, although she would never let him know that even if she wanted to.

He was looking at her hand that she was playing with.

"What happened to your hand?"

"I lost a fight with the wall." She replied, letting a bit of humor leak into her voice. "How are you."

He leaned against her wall, awkwardly knocking on it a few times with his knuckles. "I've been better. Listen, I'm really sorry," His eyebrows furrowed. "I can usually handle my alcohol." His hands are shaking, but he stuffs them in his pockets before she can say anything.

There's a silence and it grates on her ears more than any noise could.

"I stormed off. When you were hurting." She states.

"It's fine, I mean.." He smiles, "When have the people I love ever not left me?" He laughs, openly, but her eyes shine.

His smile falls and he curses, "Oh, shit, Gamora, it was just a joke. I'm- I didn't mean it."

Showing emotion in front of Peter was becoming more and more frequent, and she can't tell if its the best thing that's happened to her or the worst.

She stands and walks over to him, hesitating to touch his shoulder. She doesn't want to be invasive. "Peter, I will never willingly leave, because all I've wanted is to be with you."

It is Peter that closes the distance between them. He presses his forehead to hers as he breathes, deep and full.

"Thank you."

_________


End file.
